


Better

by languisity



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/languisity/pseuds/languisity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm fine," Derek insists, glaring at Stiles. It's a little weak. Stiles has a feeling it's meant to be threatening, but it just comes off petulant. </p>
<p>"You look half dead," Stiles says. "Like, literally halfway to being actually dead. There's a fancy name for the shade of gray you are right now."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, that one time Derek is sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsforscience](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsforscience/gifts).



> Get-well fic for itsforscience. Would that I could smite the germs that infect thee. As it is, all I can do it write you something schmoopy.

Derek has a wicked case of aconite poisoning that looks suspciously like the flu. He's pale and sweating and his under-eye circles are so dark he's looking a little zombified.

Derek coughs, shivering and batting Stile's away when he places a cool washcloth on Derek's forehead like a 19th century nursemaid.

"I'm trying to help you out here," Stiles says.

"I'm fine," Derek insists, glaring at Stiles. It's a little weak. Stiles has a feeling it's meant to be threatening, but it just comes off petulant.

"You look half dead," Stiles says. "Like, literally halfway to being actually dead. There's a fancy name for the shade of gray you are right now."

"I'm--" Derek starts.

"Fine. You said that," Stiles says, "but you've been wrong about stuff before. I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to do. Do we just wait this out or-- do you want some drugs? Can you even-- would they work? Maybe some soup."

"Stiles," Derek says, and he sound sick and pitiful and a lot annoyed, but there's an openness about him that has nothing to do with that. It makes something in Stiles ache a little. It's the good kind of ache. An I-was-wrong-when-I thought-I-couldn't-love-you-more ache. Derek tugs Stiles down then, and Stiles ends up sprawling on top of him because even poisoned and probably near death, he's still stronger than a completely healthy human. Or maybe Stiles wanted to go. Yeah. That.

Stiles moves to make them more comfortable on the bed -- because since Derek decided to stop squatting in the charred remains of his childhood home, he has a new place to live and a bed to put in it -- and tucks himself up against Derek's side, one arm thrown over Derek's stomach.

"I'll be your Florence Nightingale," he says, tucking his head under Derek's chin. "Let me heal you."

Derek groans, but wraps his arms around Stiles. Stiles can feel Derek's body just sink down, relaxing all at once.

"Oh alpha, my alpha."

"That doesn't even make sense," Derek says, but sighs and holds Stiles tighter.


End file.
